


The Quick and the Dead

by Saucery



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adulthood is Unwelcome and Strange, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Braaaaaaaiiiiiiiins, Cannibalism But Not Really, Civil Rights, Comedy, Crack, Dirty Talk, Flirting, Fluff, Gross, Humor, It's A Zombie Apocalypse!, M/M, Not My Fault, Possessive Behavior, Processed Food, Protective Dad, Revolution, Ridiculous, Scarred For Life, Smutty Flashbacks, Social Activism, Social Issues, Stiles Has Weird Kinks, Stiles Stilinski and His Zombie Boyfriend, Surreal, Sweet, The Author is Clearly Insane, The Shit Has Finally Hit the Fan, True Love, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:51:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1894569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles will (probably) survive this zombie apocalypse. With his zombie boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Quick and the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of the first stories I wrote in this fandom, but I deleted it ages ago. Well, it's back! Enjoy!

* * *

 

Stiles's life was far from perfect. He lived in a filthy little hovel of a downtown apartment, barely managed to hold down his two blue-collar jobs, barely managed to pass his college tests, and barely - _barely_ \- managed to keep things together with his undead boyfriend.

Then again, there were advantages to going out with a zombie. Derek was a cheap date, for one thing. He didn't even need to eat, aside from the bulk-bargain canned brains Stiles bought for him every few weeks. (It was crazy, what the cans said on their slip-off paper covers: 'BRAIN FOOD!TM Now developed from tissue cultures and Ethics Committee approved!' Like that made the wan-colored sludge inside them any more palatable. Derek didn't complain, but zombies weren't known for being gourmands, anyway. Or for having tastebuds that actually worked.)

So. Advantages. The guy was a cheap date. And a _fabulous_ fuck. He didn't get tired; he was single-minded; he was almost viciously thorough. He was pliable, in the sense that he was ready whenever Stiles wanted him, and when he was ready, well - he could go at it for _hours_. Stiles didn't mind being sandy-eyed and exhausted at work the next day, not even if his hips ached like an old man's; it was worth it, having that satiated lassitude in the mornings, the only thing that made his miserable life any better.

The thing was, though, that Derek was clingy. That was the downside. He kept nattering about commitment and love and things like, "I wouldn't eat your brain even if it was handed to me on a silver platter, I swear," as if that made any sense or were even true, because the way Derek tongue-fucked his _ear_ while they were in the middle of it was a sure sign that he wanted more, that he wanted _in_ , and while that should've terrified Stiles, it just made him whimper and clutch at Derek's beautifully-sculpted shoulders and come hard enough to knock himself out.

Post-coital black-outs. Damned embarrassing.

The clinginess wasn't so bad in the afterglow, but Derek seemed to take it for granted and automatically extended his clinging rights to non-sexual situations. When they slept together, for example; Stiles couldn't stand having that cool, undead body pressed close to his, especially not on winter nights. It was cold enough without spooning with a zombie, damn it.

So, when the phone rang at the ungodly hour of 8:30 a.m. on a Sunday morning (god was clearly evil; the sun shouldn't even rise until after noon on Sundays), Stiles dragged his arm out of Derek's Tarzan-hold and reached for the receiver.

"'llo?" he rasped into the phone, and it turned out to be a good thing that he hadn't said 'fuck you' like he'd wanted to, because the person on the other end of the line turned out to be his dad.

"Son? You there?"

"Dad?" Suddenly, Stiles was very much awake. "What happened?" Was it bad news? Something cop-related? "Are - are you okay?"

"Jesus, kid. You don't even know... Switch on the TV."

"What?"

"The zombies, Stiles. They're having some kind of revolution - "

" _What?_ " Sure, there had been some noises of discontent from the Union of Undead Workers, but what the hell? Stiles scrambled for the remote and switched on the TV, only to see newsreel after newsreel showing thousands of zombies marching across the streets. Some even had blood on their mouths. And - and bits of brain. They - they were _eating_ people -

"It isn't safe in the city. You've gotta leave. I'll come pick you up."

"No, don't. I... I've got someone to protect me, all right?" Stiles snuck a glance at Derek, who was, as usual, sleeping like the dea - er, the undead. "I'll hitch a ride with Officer Perkins when I get to Border Control, don't worry about it."

"By 'someone to protect you,' you don't mean that - "

" - incredibly hot hunk of man-flesh?"

"Stiles!" At least his Dad sounded scandalized, now, rather than terrified. That was a start.

"Yeah. I mean Derek, okay? You know he practically tore the limbs off the last zombie that tried to get near me - "

"Emphasizing his violent behavior to me is _not_ the most comforting thing to do right now, son."

"Uh. He's only violent in my, um, my defense?"

"Stiles. He's the nephew of Peter Hale, the guy that's leading the revolution. The guy that _eats people's brains_."

"Derek's a conscientious objector! I'll. I'll be all right, I promise. He - he loves me." Stiles swallowed, aware, all of a sudden, that it was true. That Derek really did lo - no, not the time to be thinking about that.

Dad was quiet, though, which meant he agreed with Stiles. Or possibly disagreed with him, but had no proof to the contrary, and so would go along with things for the time being, anyway. "Be careful. Check in with Perkins. And call me when you get to BC."

"Done. You be careful, too, Dad. They're not sending you out on patrol, are they?"

"A man my age? You've gotta be kidding me. No, they've got me on this goddamn useless border outpost. Don't worry about me, all right? Just get here safe and sound."

"I will." Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, but the images from the TV screen still burned behind his eyelids. "See you soon, Dad."

"You too, son."

And then, after a moment of mutually awkward silence, they hung up.

Stiles just sat there, for a moment, his eyes still closed. It was a Sunday. It was fucking laundry day, and the zombies were staging a revolution.

Crap. The world was going to hell, and he didn't even have any fresh underwear.

"Derek." He finally turned to his sleeping-like-a-baby boyfriend and shook him awake. "Derek!"

"Mwuh?"

This was _not_ the time to find the zombie in his bed adorable. "Get up. We've got to go."

There must've been something in his voice - the weight of approximately ten thousand kilotons of fear, perhaps? - that woke Derek right up. His dazed, lazy smile disappeared; his wolf-bright eyes immediately went feral and narrow. "What happened?"

"Look at the TV."

They both looked at the TV.

"Well, shit," said Derek, eventually.

"Tell me about it." Stiles started to climb out of bed, for once not paying attention to the fact that he was stark naked and that this was a really convenient state of affairs for a morning quickie. "Pack your stuff. I'm gonna grab a couple shirts and maybe some brain-cans, and we'll be outta here."

"Stiles." Suddenly, an iron-hard grip was anchoring him to the bed. Which was usually a good thing - even a downright _awesome_ thing - but right now? They needed to be out of this city. "I won't let anything happen to you."

Stiles gulped. He couldn't bring himself to look at Derek, for some reason - maybe for a reason that began with 'I' and ended with 'you', with a really girly four-letter word in-between. "Yeah. I know."

"Do you?"

"I just." He forced himself to look at Derek, to meet his too-blue eyes. God, Derek was beautiful. Too damn beautiful to give up, but - "If things get out of hand on the streets, you should... you should leave. You're one of them, and if you side with me, they won't exactly go easy on you - "

"Stiles." Derek's voice was patient, like the sun, and just as warm. "Stop."

Stiles stopped. His _breath_ stopped, as well, because Derek leaned forward and kissed him.

It was the chastest, most non-filthy kiss they'd ever shared.

Stiles refused to call it sweet, on principle, because he just didn't do girly words.

"I'm going with you," Derek said, "every step of the way. And if any of them come after you, I'll kill them."

"Hate to break it to you, buddy, but they're already dead."

"Then I'll kill them again. And again. I'll keep killing them, all of them, until there isn't a single one left."

Stiles... was probably getting hard. No, he was _definitely_ getting hard, which was what normally happened when Derek went all alpha-zombie on him, but this wasn't exactly the time or the place. Okay, so it was the place, as in, it was their bed (god, when had it even become 'their' bed, as opposed to the bed Stiles had bought dirt-cheap from the local flea market and that Derek had just sort of ended up sleeping in?), but it sure as heck wasn't the time.

"We - we've gotta go."

But Derek wouldn't let go. "Tell me you understand. Tell me you won't try to leave me behind. For my own good, or whatever stupid idea you have in your mind."

"My mind has brilliant ideas, thank you very much!" When Derek still didn't let go, Stiles sighed. "Okay, okay. I promise. I'll stick with you. All the way."

"All the way," Derek said, and smiled, his sexy-but-still-scary smile. "Get dressed."

"That's the first and hopefully the last time you'll ever say that to me."

Derek snorted, and let him go. "I hope so, too."

"Zombie apocalypses are damned inconvenient," Stiles muttered, as he ran around the bedroom stuffing his clothes into a knapsack and hopping into his pants. "No time for a morning quickie. Hey," he asked, "you wanna have a can of brains before we go?"

"I'm good," said Derek, quietly, watching Stiles get dressed. It was kind of creepy when he did that - just stared, like maybe he was memorizing every slope of Stiles's body, or maybe just... eating him with his eyes. Jesus. Possibly Stiles had some really weird kinks. Possibly he should stop thinking about them. Immediately.

"You've packed? I didn't even see you pack." Or dress. Did Derek just grow that leather jacket out of his skin, or something?

"I don't own anything, Stiles," Derek pointed out, although his tone of voice very obviously meant, _except for you_.

Stiles shivered. Damn the lack of his usual morning quickie. That stuff was better than caffeine. Now, he was going into withdrawal. Great.

"You," he said to Derek, as he hauled his knapsack filled with T-shirts and shorts and dirty underwear and brain-cans over his shoulder, "are going to fuck me _so hard_ once we get to Border Control."

"Count on it," said Derek, and slapped his ass on the way out.

 

* * *

**fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> Like my writing? Want updates? Follow me on [Tumblr](http://saucefactory.tumblr.com/)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Quick and the Dead (Podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2132487) by [auroreanrave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/auroreanrave/pseuds/auroreanrave), [Saucery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery)




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